Forever and Ever
by Theoretical-Optimist
Summary: Igor Karkaroff flees for his life when he refuses to return to Voldemort's side following the Triwizard Tournament. Inspiration from Hamilton. Written for Round 6 of The Houses Competition (year two).


House: Gryffindor

Position: Year 7 (Stand in for Round 6)

Category: Short

Prompt: Igor Karkaroff

Word Count (excluding header and AN): 911

Beta: Tigger

AN- This deviates from canon where Karkaroff hid in a shed and used various concealment spells to hide from Voldemort and the Death Eaters. I love the idea of Karkaroff scurrying throughout Europe and hiding by avoiding using magic.

Shay challenged me to include themes from Hamilton in my short and themed stories for this round. This is my take on _You'll Be Back_. Initially, I imagined Voldemort doing the shoulder-bob dance and giddy laugh of King George III. It would have been ridiculously OOC, but it amused me. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

He felt his left forearm burn and throb. His master was summoning him to his side again. But he did not heed the call. He couldn't return—death was certainly awaiting him if he did. His only hope was to run away and hide and pray that they did not find him.

' _You'll be back,'_ echoed in his mind.

He could never go back. Not after he had turned traitor and ratted out his former comrades in an attempt to garner leniency for himself. He had provided names, locations, and plots to lessen his own sentence.

And it had worked in his favor for thirteen years. He'd been allowed to return to his home country and rose to a position of prominence there. There were those who distrusted him and believed his ego and past dealings made him unsuitable for his work, but he ignored their complaints and carried on.

He was certain that everything was going to be fine; that his past would finally be behind him.

He was wrong.

As the Triwizard Tournament progressed, he watched the wretched mark begin to darken and he began to panic. On the night of the third task, his fears came to fruition when he felt an almost unbearable compulsion to appear at his master's side. A master who he had once believed was dead. A master who he desperately wished was dead.

' _You belong to me,'_ hissed a hideous voice within his head.

He knew that his life was not his own until the wretched mark went dormant again. Even then, he couldn't be completely safe. But perhaps he could stop running.

He'd been in hiding for over a year. At first, his only thought was to escape England and the immediate danger there. He sought refuge in France hoping to rely upon goodwill built with the faculty of Beauxbatons. When he approached the school, his mark burned so fiercely he thought he might die. He quickly realized that the school had enacted security wards to prevent the entry of anyone who carried _his_ mark.

Next, he had traveled back to his home country of Bulgaria. He thought he might be able to pull some favors with those who had given him his job at Durmstrang. They had known about his former allegiances and hired him regardless. He was shocked when they slammed doors in his face claiming that they needed to protect themselves from the growing threat.

"He will kill my friends and family," they had all claimed. Pathetic.

For the better part of the last eleven months, he'd been little more than a vagrant. He scurried from city to city by Muggle means, praying to remain undetected. He didn't dare use magic in case they could trace him that way. It gave him no pleasure to integrate himself into the lowest level of Muggle society, but he was willing to do whatever it took to survive. He begged for scraps in the streets and huddled in dark alleyways to fight off the bitter chill of the elements. Occasionally, a kind Muggle would take him in for a week or two but then he would feel the magic start to crackle around him and he would be forced to flee.

A week ago, he'd felt the bite of dark magic swell in the air around him once again. He abandoned his poorly constructed shelter in the heart of Tirana's homeless district and fled into the forest hoping to put distance between himself and the threat he felt stirring.

He'd hardly slept in the past week. His heart leapt into his throat every time the wind whistled through the trees. Bile churned in his stomach each time a twig would snap only for him to discover it has a docile animal passing through.

But today was silent. There was no wind to rustle the leaves. No animals to provide him company. He was utterly alone, and, for the first time in over a year, allowed himself to relax just a bit.

He decided to construct a shelter from some fallen branches. The summer air in the Albanian forest was mild, but he knew that he should protect himself from the dangers that lurked just beyond his sight.

He used a sharp rock to dig out a small trench at the base of a tree. Once that was accomplished, he left to search the woods for building materials. On his second trip back to his camp, he felt a pair of eyes watching him. Whirling around, he expected to find a curious deer observing him.

He was wrong.

"Hello Igor."

"Bella-Bellatrix?"

"Long time, no see. Didn't you miss us?" she cooed.

He gulped and grasped for his long-neglected wand. When his hand came up empty, his heart plummeted. His raised his eyes to see his wand clutched in Bellatrix's fist.

"What do you want from me? I'll-I'll come back," Igor stammered. "I'll do whatever he says."

"Silly Karkaroff," Bellatrix simpered, "The Dark Lord doesn't want you back."

"He doesn't?" Igor couldn't believe his good fortune. He could return to his post as Headmaster of Durmstrang and it would be as if nothing had changed.

"Of course he doesn't." She smiled, sinisterly. "He wants you dead."

Igor had barely a second to ponder the green light as it left his own wand in her grasp and rushed towards him. With his last moment of life, he thought, ' _at least I don't have to run anymore_.'


End file.
